When I was growing up, a Jewish friend of my parents told me, “any problem that can be solved with money isn’t a real problem.” She was right.

Anyway, I struck out on my own doing freelance and I love it. I don’t make all that much now and have no benefits, except what I pay for myself.

But freedom is priceless. I love the spirit of entrepreneurs, and that’s who I work with now.

Unpopular Views

Most people responded to me better when I was liberal. It’s a lot easier to swim with the current, wherever you live.

But then when everything fell apart, I started looking at the world through different eyes.

Because I saw this demonic presence, literally face-to-face, I really started to believe. Prior to that, I had always thought the Satan and demons and all that might be metaphorical.

But here I was, confronted with this. And it took me into all kinds of dark places.

My Kids (Sort Of)

While all this was going on, I also met all kinds of troubled people.

The reasons are complex, but for about 4-5 years, I started taking some of the younger ones into my house. Troubled teens.

This is when I started feeling the whole society is falling apart. So while some of my rants may sound angry and “intolerant,” “Save the children!“ is what echos in my mind.

I could tell you so many crazy stories! I even thought about doing a series called something like “tales from the battlefront.” Would people understand why I’m this way if they knew what’s really going on?

When all this first started, I lived in a house with three levels of living space. We had two full kitchens because my mom wanted her own apartment space.

It was supposed to be a suburban paradise. I was working your typical corporate job, doing analytics.

It was a sheltered life. I could have literally never imagined what was in store for me and my family.

I also couldn’t live in that house anymore so we moved. Then, if I skip ahead a bit, my mom died and I moved again.

When I was a kid, we’d lived right in town. I guess I hoped to catch a breath of those earlier, happier times, so I rented a place in town.

The Muslims

At first, I loved the place.

I remember how the church bells would go off right outside my window. That’s how I knew it was about time to leave for Latifiyya.

I don’t like driving and I already had a really long commute to and from work. Yet I’d drive just as far on weekends, both Saturday and Sunday, to meet my Muslim friends.

Saturday we had class. Sunday we had Latifiyya, which is where you do dhikr and then have a lecture followed by snacks and conversation.

By the time I started going there, I’d been a Muslims for years. I’d been to a fair number of gatherings too, but not many like these.

These were pious Muslims. We all dressed modestly and men and women don’t mix.

I’d never seen any of my friends’ husbands. We were mostly separate and if we crossed paths, both parties would lower their gaze.

At the time, most of these Muslims weren’t posting photos on Facebook either. Our Shaykh discourages pictures of faces.

Birthday Party

I remember once when one of the sisters had a birthday party for her daughter, who was turning three.

When the others arrived, they didn’t divide themselves according to plan. Instead of the men going into their section and the women into theirs, they just all streamed into the main section with the kids.

The party hosts wordlessly agreed not to intervene. This was a rare scenario where I could actually see my friend’s husbands and match them with their wives and kids. 🙂

The next crisis came when someone asked us to play music. Because we’re not allowed to listen to music but didn’t want to say so.

One of the sisters played some cheerful “voice only” nasheeds and no one was the wiser. The reason I remember this so well is it was my life then, and so drastically different.

But before that, I would have been among the others. Who streamed in together, “free mixing” without a second thought.

Peace

I felt so at home with the Muslims. If you think they were ranting with me about topics like “sexual anarchy,” think again. 🙂

They would literally never in a million years discuss anything like that. Even though I’ve blundered a lot over the years, even I knew better than to bring up something like that in this group.

To draw a parallel, it would be a lot like loudly burping at the dinner table.

So we were never discussing any of that stuff, though I was ranting about it with some Muslim friends online. And here on my blog.

What a strange life. At first, I was taking off my hijab at work then wearing it everywhere else, even inside my own home because I had teenage boys there.

I used to explain things to boys and pray in front of them and try to guide them. Even though they’ve spent their whole lives being indoctrinated with satanism.

From time to time, I think I got through to some of them. But for others, it was a lost cause.

Chaos

You wouldn’t believe the lives some of these boys lived.

One of them lived in a doublewide trailer with 14 cats, his mom, stepdad, and stepbrother. I used to hate taking him back there.

They were hoarders on top of having all those cats and the smell was brutal.

His mom and stepdad both have AIDS. She used to be a stripper and divorced this boy’s dad because he raped the sister. He’s in prison now.

The mom found out she had AIDS while pregnant with this boy but they gave her some drug that was supposed to prevent her from passing on the virus. It worked, alhamdulillah.

He liked to come and stay with me and the boys in my house. When he was home he fought with his stepdad and his stepbrother sometimes beat him up.

I’m going to call him Sam. None of these names will be real for privacy reasons.

Family Life

Sam was with us for a year and a half and when I saw his mother during this period, she would often cry. But her house was really not a place for raising kids.

I remember waking up to a ruckus one night at my house, about 2 AM. I had to work the next day, so I asked the boys what was going on and could they keep it down.

They said that Sam’s mom and stepdad were livid because they believed he had stolen their sex toy. But Sam said his stepbrother framed him because he’s bisexual and likes to borrow those items.

He suspected the stepbrother put the toy in his room to get him in trouble.

Oh dear. Is that not a jaw-dropping story?

It’s wrong on so many levels! I don’t think someone who is 15 years old should be dealing with stuff like that.

There was nothing I could think of to say. So I just walked muttered something about hoping it all worked out and went back to bed!

Even now I don’t love to write these lurid details, but people need to understand.

This is why we need to protect children from this madness! Can’t people see this??

Quite a Lady

Another time, these kids were watching an amateur strip show on a smartphone. They didn’t even really try to hide it when I went by, so I asked, “What would your mom say if she saw you watching that?”

One of the boys said it was his mom who sent the video, and it was one of her friends. I was shocked and blurted out, “Is your mom a lesbian?”

He said, “No, she’s bisexual,” beaming with pride.

It seems she never married his dad but they lived together and two boys. They both date other people, and at one point the mom married someone else.

I’m not sure exactly how all of that worked because I try not to ask too many questions.

Not long before that, this same woman had been out to a bar with the boy’s dad, and he got into a fight. She broke it up by kicking the other man in the head.

She’s nice when you meet her, like most of these people. But is that a good environment for children?

Dramatic Rescue

Another time some boys called and told me I needed to rush to McDonald’s parking lot. One of the girls we know was cowering behind two boys while her “baby daddy” threatened her.

I told them to call the cops but they said too many of the people involved are on probation. Sigh, okay.

When I arrived, the girl was indeed cowering behind two boys. Her boyfriend was huge!

He was standing in front of his car, and there was another large man in the car. The boys guarding over the girl were much smaller, and as I see it, quite brave.

The car was parked in the space closest to where everyone was gathered. Now, what do I do?

I drove around the back and came out on the other side, behind the girl. As pulled up, I screamed, “Macala! Get in the car!”

She ran to the car and hopped in, along with the two boys who’d been guarding her. Her boyfriend paused as if he wasn’t sure if he should chase them to my car or go to his.

The split second I heard my car doors shut, I peeled out. It’s a 25 mile an hour zone, but I was flying.

I figured if a cop pulled me over, it would be a blessing.

Mr. Green Tooth

Macala thanked me and asked if I remembered her. I said of course!

Is your stepdad still with you? Which one, she asked, and I said, “Mr. Green Tooth.”

She started laughing because she had always called him that. She insisted he really did have just one tooth left…and it was green. Yuck.

I was amazed she could still laugh given the circumstances. Then it dawned on me I didn’t even know where I was going.

She wanted to go home but I said won’t he find you there? She said she’d lock her door and her mom is there and she had nowhere else to go.

Hmm…I drove her to her mom’s apartment and at the time couldn’t see her boyfriend’s car behind us. As I dropped her off, he pulled up.

The boys with us said it would be alright. They would stay with her and keep her safe, along with her mom.

Once the girl was safe in the house and the boys were on guard outside her door, I left. Later they said they’d been able to calm the boyfriend down and get him to leave in peace.

I felt sorry for the baby Macala was carrying. What a way to come into this world!

The next time I saw her boyfriend, he was stoned out of his mind, thrashing around in my basement. Until the other boys settled him down and dragged him home.

Not Kids Anymore

I have tons of these stories. Some much more dramatic, others far more tragic. The last of “my kids” left in January.

Kids who start out 14 or 15 become young men. Some are in jail or homeless now but some are doing okay.

During all of this, remember, I was also spending time with the Muslims. What a contrast!

I would leave all this filth and chaos, and sit with them in such peace and tranquility. I didn’t hide the situation at home from them.

It’s hard to say what they really thought but the only direct criticism that ever came was if the boys let girls into the mix. Otherwise, the sisters supported me.

In my mind, the lifestyle of the Muslims was infinitely superior.

Contrast

When I’m with my Muslim friends, everything is quiet and orderly, and I never have to worry about the men. I can’t tell you how many times I’d be getting ready for a gathering and feel a great sense of relief knowing I’d only be among the sisters.

There is so much less awkwardness and pressure. And men and women don’t usually talk about the same things anyway.

We talk a lot about food, clothes, and kids. The men are more inclined to talk about politics.

We’re usually laughing and they are often more serious, and more likely to argue. I couldn’t ever see the men together but I could hear a little of their conversation sometimes.

I think if more people experienced gender separate social gatherings, they’d also like them better. 🙂

Cross Streams?

Many times I’d linger among the last guests, not feeling eager to get home. The Muslims invited the boys who stayed at my house to come to Latifiyya too.

That idea both worried and excited me. What if the men there really mentored the boys and showed them a better way?

Oh, but the boys! Wow.

How would they behave? I never got to find out because they never accepted the invitation.

If one had, the rest might have. But that just never happened.

Destructive Impulses

Things went on like this for literally years. I made many trips to the emergency room and the psych ward. And lots of conversations with law enforcement officers.

Once one of the boys was angry and I saw he was going to punch through the glass storm door. I tried to stop him by grabbing him around the waist but he didn’t even notice.

Thwak, Thwak, Thwak! He punched through the glass three times and then stormed out.

The door swung back at me and I reflexively put my hand up so that the jagged leftover glass sliced open my hand.

I was just sort of crumpled there while some of the other boys swept up all the glass. Blood on the floor and smeared on the walls. Mine and his.

Clean slices cause a lot of bleeding for the size of the cut. So though no one was seriously hurt, the scene looked pretty bad.

Some neighbor had called the police. It seemed as if they were there instantly.

They knew most of the kids at my house by name. Because most had been in one sort of trouble or another.

Someone shattered the toilet around that time too. If you can imagine that.

They also broke all of my dining room chairs and one of the beds. Every day it was something!

And most days, broken stuff was the least of my worries!

More Chaos

I remember once waking up at 4 AM to find one boy trying to take a knife from another boy who was screaming about killing himself. We wound up in the emergency room, and he was later admitted to the psych ward.

Some of the boys came up another morning and told me I had to kick out another boy because he had a gun! He’d stolen it, they said, out of someone’s car the night before.

Do I have to confront someone with a gun before I go to work? Not a good way to start my day.

Another morning I came downstairs and found a 7-foot tall drug dealer sprawled out on my couch. Everyone in town knows who he is. Imagine asking him to leave!

Also, think about this contrast. Of course, I’m going to argue that Islam is better than all this mess!

How could it be otherwise?

Suburbia is not Safe

When people hear a bit of this, they’ll often say I must live in the ghetto. This is comforting to people because it means they are safe.

It’s not an American problem. It’s a ghetto problem because this is how poor, uneducated people behave.

Well, that’s wrong. I don’t live in a ghetto. This is a small university town in the richest or second richest county in the state.

Some of these kids are from poor families but some come from McMansions in the suburbs. One of the meth addicts comes from a prominent, wealthy family that has buildings named after them.

They are of all races, colors, creeds, and backgrounds too. This is life for many in America now.

Isolation

Things went on like this for years, but in the summer of 2017, things started winding down. I still had kids here but far fewer, and now I have none.

After an especially nasty incident, my interaction with everyone else also started to taper off. I just couldn’t be around people anymore.

So much had happened. I’m writing about random bits and pieces, but they’re no way to give anyone who wasn’t there a sense of what it was really like.